


The Hobbit - An Unexpected Journey (Edition)

by neellss



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Company, Dwarves, Elves, F/M, LOTR, Love, Tolkien, kingdom - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 04:21:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1496467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neellss/pseuds/neellss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*This story is under editing*  </p><p>Bilbo Baggins is swept into a quest to reclaim the lost Dwarf Kingdom of Erebor from the fearsome dragon named Smaug. Approached out of the blue by the wizard Gandalf the Grey, Bilbo finds himself joining a company of thirteen Dwarves and an Elf led by the legendary warrior, Thorin Oakenshield. Their journey will take them into the Wild; through treacherous lands swarming with Goblins, Orcs, deadly Wargs and Giant Spiders, Shapeshifters and Sorcerers. Although their goal lies to the East and the wastelands of the Lonely Mountain, the company must first muster the courage to face these challenges together or alone before darkness and evil descend and corrupt their minds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story can be found on Wattpad by the same name.

I based this fanfiction upon the original story about the Hobbit Bilbo Baggins and his journey together with a wizard and 13 Dwarves on their way to take back their home from the fire drake Smaug. However, I’ve edited the story and included yet another character. Other things I’ve edited about the story are things such as the scenes, the relationships and conversations. The new character I’ve included is an Elf by name Arïa Vanima Hõlone, daughter of Thranduil and sister to Legolas Greenleaf. She is joining the Dwarves’ quest of retrieving their homeland after many years of pending. She does also have a long lost relationship with one of the Dwarves in the company.   ______________________________________________________  

**Introduction  
**

The Dwarves of Erebor were great miners and dug deep into the mountain walls in the deep of their kingdom. They had a great consumption of gold and all kinds of different jewels, although the greatest of them all was the Arkenstone – the Heart of the Mountain. The jewel was placed at the very top of King Thror’s throne; thereof he named it the King’s Jewel. To him it was a sign – a sign that his right to rule was divine. The prince of the royal court was Thorin – the King’s grandson, and the son of Thrain. He was loyal, brave and bold, however he was also stubborn and reckless at times that mattered the most. He served the King of Erebor; protecting Thror with his life, and he was also the heir of Durin – heir to the throne, and guardian of Erebor. All would pay homage to the Dwarfen King. Even King Thranduil, who ruled over the Wood Elves in Mirkwood – father to Legolas Greenleaf, and father to the magnificent and incredibly beautiful Elven princess Arïa Hõlone, older sister to Legolas and heir to her father’s throne. With Arïa in the picture, this story can finally begin. You see, Thorin, the prince of Erebor, and Arïa Hõlone – the princess of Mirkwood unexpectedly fell in love. However, not just any type of love like these normal attractions which will end in heartbreak and agony – only ever just a mean to an end, no. Thorin and Arïa’s love was fierce and pure and true; the Dwarf would utter his own blood for Arïa’s sake if he had to. He would do any possible thing for the Elf with the auburn silk hair and blue eyes, as he couldn’t ever get a peace of mind without knowing that she was safe and sound. Arïa was incredibly wise (differing from the Elves of the Woodland Realm), understanding, loving and pure-hearted. She would never so a slight thing that would put Thorin in any harm, as he was the only light that had entered her life under her many years of pointless existence. As Thorin was indeed a Dwarf, his personality came with a few certain consequences – stubbornness, grumpiness and recklessness. This was their only problem – they fought all the time, but Thorin would not let them fall apart more than a couple of hours. His fierce love for Arïa made him slightly overprotective. A measly threat or a too loud sound that would cause her to flinch, would put Thorin’s muscular frame right there by her side to cover her like a cowl, to prevent any kind of harm to come to her figure and her beautiful skin. Once the day of terror struck the Dwarfen kingdom – the terrible fire breather Smaug appearing from the sky for the Dwarf gold, there was nothing the kin could do but to leave their home – abandon it forever, for a dragon will guard its plunder as long as it lives. King Thranduil would not risk his people’s lives against the wrath of Smaug, as he knew the consequences of dragon fire from flesh to bone, from beauty to ugliness and despair. The destruction – flames burning stone and bones into ashes, Thranduil declined the aid for the Dwarves from that day and all the days that followed. Thranduil ripped his daughter away from Thorin, forbidding her from ever going to the Dwarves’ aid, as Arïa wanted nothing more than to help them. But she would not give up simply by the words of her father – she knew what the right thing was to do, and behind her father’s and her brother’s back she had returned to the Dwarves which had now been put to their knees – robbed of their homeland and wandering the wilderness. Arïa left her entire kin behind, her actions having great consequences. She became hated by all the Elves in Middle Earth, her recklessness not being thought of as any heroic act what so ever, but an act of selfishness, foolishness and blinded love that could never be. Her own father came to hate her to her bones. He had warned her that if she left for the Dwarves’ sake, she would never be able to return home, and she was willing to take the risk of everlasting solitude. As Arïa learned of Thorin’s hatred of her as he now thought of her as a traitor – a part of the filthy Elfish kin, she shielded herself from his knowledge of her return to his people. Thorin would never forgive, for he never forgot. Arïa was thenceforth welcomed into the arms of Thorin’s two nephews – Fíli and Kíli, as well as their mother Dís who all three swore to keep Arïa’s presence amongst the Dwarves a secret from Thorin. Fíli and Kíli were two young warrior brothers, who had a lot of mischief on their minds – sneaky as foxes and as soundless as the wind. Together, Fíli, Kíli and Arïa got even closer than before, and they helped the Dwarfen kin to get back on their feet. The thought of his beloved Arïa struck Thorin every day, and both his love and hate for her grew even stronger for each day that past. The Dwarf and the Elf did not hear from each other for many, many years, and they could feel their hearts growing yet sadder for each day that passed them by. Darkness was slowly starting to grow inside of them as they kept trying to find a way back to each other.   The hope of the future including them both together again was slowly starting to fade as all light emptied their minds.

 


	2. An Adventure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited

The thin ring of smoke was slowly seeking, gliding itself through the windless air, up against the sky. It was as if it joined the rest of the light white and fluffy clouds that were, although, few in the blue, clear sky. It was pretty strange how it could seem that way, though the little ring of smoke still was so very close to his garden with the colourful flowers, the freshly cut grass, and the smell of it; the bushes that were shuffled with different kind of flowers, mixing the beautiful, comfortable scent of home out into the wind, rolling up his nostrils. He had always rather enjoyed and admired his smoke rings as if they were one of a kind, special indeed and no one else could do it the way that he did them.

But in the pleasant solitude in the garden something disturbed the young Hobbit, sitting there on his bench - peaceful; the narrow ring that he had made out of the smoke from his long wooden pipe flowing down into the ground now came right back at him, and no matter how strange it might sound, it came up as a little pinching on his nose and surrounded his face like a cloud of choking smoke.

The Hobbit had closed his eyes to the sunlight, and was therefore not mentally present to witness this unnatural event. The Hobbit coughed away the smoke, and he could suddenly feel a careful wind blow his way. The same kind of careful wind that appeared when someone had arrived or passing the Hobbit by and it was no different this time.

The slight wind washing over his visible skin made him open his deep brown eyes to the light that were no longer there. Apparently someone had covered it up. It made him flinch to the quite old and incredibly tall man that was now standing in front of him outside his gate which surrounded his garden. The man would have no problem what so ever to simply just step over the gate if he so desired. He wore a thick and - what it seemed like to be - a pretty oversized cloak that were hanging like curtains over his body, and as accessory he wore a big grey hat with a high topping, sitting far up on his head and made him look far taller than what he really was. The tip of the hat hung over a little at the edge and in the man’s hand he was holding a tall wooden staff, which was almost taller than the man himself. He was smiling through his thick beard that was covering most of his face and which also stretched far down his cloak.

He had been standing there a good while now. The young Hobbit wasn’t quite sure of what to do, as he felt something strange rise inside of him. For a moment it felt like nervosity, or something that made him uncertain of what to say or do. The man outside the gate didn’t seem to mind the Hobbit taking his time.

The Hobbit twisted to the side of the bench and moved the tip of his pipe around a little against his lips as his forehead frowned, until his gaze eventually turned up to face the old and very tall man.

“Good morning”, the Hobbit spoke out with confidence.

“What do you mean?” the old man asked.

The Hobbit did not understand, but this emotion did not paint onto his calm face. The old man’s voice was husky and dark, yet calm, understanding and friendly. Quite pleasant to listen to, he thought. 

The young Hobbit’s face was still a big frown and he did not know what to say further. He kept a steady hold around the head of his pipe and carefully looked around. He tried not to make it too obvious that he was extremely uncomfortable with the situation. He took a deep whiff from the narrow pipe end and inhaled the smoke.

“Do you mean to wish me a good morning, or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not?” He kept speaking in riddles that the Hobbit did not yet understand. He tried to follow in his low tone and his quick words. It wasn’t simple. The Hobbit cocked his head to the side, confused he was. “Or perhaps you mean that you feel good on this particular morning? Or are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on?”

He breathed out to the last word that he spoke. The old man did as well cock his head to the side. His eyes seemed tired and he had to squint under his hat frame. The Hobbit made an attempt to seem particularly smart as well and he took the pipe tip out of his mouth, his face calm. He spun the pipe tip around in a little circle as he said,

“All of them at once, I suppose…” The Hobbit did not seem as confident, lowering his tone. But the old man with the big robe and the tall hat did not at all seem pleased with the answer he had been given, but just raised his chin up against the sky. He hummed deep down his throat and supported himself on his staff with one hand.

The Hobbit could clearly feel how awkward the situation had gotten. He was used to being by himself, and he moved his lower body further out on the bench, a slight bit away from the old man who were still standing in the same position on the road outside the Hobbit’s little garden. The Hobbit parted his lips to say something, perhaps break the awkwardness between them, however he immediately changed his mind and closed his mouth. The old man kept his gaze steadily upon the little Hobbit.

“Can I help you?” the Hobbit asked finally.

“That remains to be seen”, mumbled the old man.

The young Hobbit did no longer try to conceal his frowned forehead, trails of stupidity, nor did he conceal his lack of understanding. 

“I am looking for someone to share in an adventure”. The man smiled kindly, awaiting the Hobbit’s response. He watched as the Hobbit’s expression changed rapidly, from confusion to pure hatred.

“An adventure…?” Just by saying the word ‘adventure’ the little Hobbit winced in fear and loathing. He felt a small little shiver down his spine. His small forehead frowned and he shook his head as his eyes turned towards the ground. He was a Hobbit; adventures were nasty topics that should not ever be brought up - that he did not want any part of what so ever.

“No, I don’t imagine anyone west of Bri would have much interest in adventures”, the Hobbit pointed with the tip of his pipe out over the small village full of gardens, houses and animals.

The Hobbit felt a familiar bubbling throughout his body.

He did not have a desire of sitting down any longer so he stood up on his unusually big feet and went over to the letterbox at the side of the gate. “Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things.”

The Hobbit opened the letterbox and pulled out the letters from yesterday. “You can be late for dinner”, he chuckled to himself, placing the letters flat in his palms and in reading range.

The old man remained outside the gate facing the Hobbit with a thumb tucked in his belt.

The Hobbit shuffled through the last letters and grunted. One last whiff from the Old Toby and he dropped the pipe back down to his side. “Good morning”, The Hobbit nodded politely, his tone more cheerful than expected and he continued up the stairs to his front door.

“Think that I should have lived to be ‘Good Morning’ by Belladonna Took’s son! Like I was selling buttons at the door.”

The old man spoke quickly, stopping the Hobbit in his tracks.

“Beg your pardon?” The Hobbit twirled around flinching once the old man spoke his mother’s name. He had no memory of this man.

“You’ve changed, and not entirely for the better, Bilbo Baggins.” The old man looked concerned to Bilbo’s ignorance.

Bilbo however, decided to finally face the problem.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Bilbo’s voice got quick and speedy, blinking in between the words.

“Well you know my name, although you don’t remember I belong to it - I’m Gandalf”, the old man said it as if it was obvious for the young Bilbo to understand. But Bilbo just stood there as if frozen to stone and stared into the abyss trying to figure out if he had ever heard that name before, his forehead frowned, his palm pressed tightly around the end of his pipe and his nose wrinkling now and then. Gandalf noticed this act of his and explained further, or at least as far as it could go,

“And Gandalf means… me”. He could not come up with anything else to explain it with.

Bilbo mumbled the name quietly again to himself, fixating his gaze into the ground, until suddenly he flinched.

“Not Gandalf the wandering wizard who made such excellent fireworks? Old Took used to have them on Midsummer’s Eve!” chuckled Bilbo, who had finally remembered. He remembered the tiny fireworks that were blazing right above the ground for the small ones to see. He remembered them exploding out to grow into lovely lilies, from snap-dragons to laburnum, for now he had remembered it all.

Gandalf blushed and twirled to the compliments.

“I had no idea that you were still in business”, mumbled Bilbo and he witnessed how Gandalf’s face slowly turned sour. Indeed Gandalf looked old and wrinkly, but he had more energy than expected.

“And where else would I be?” Gandalf’s tone was grumpy and he pierced the Hobbit with his dark eyes. Bilbo who was still standing on the big and broad staircase leading up to his beautifully green, almost emerald door. He cleared his throat out of nervosity and tucked the small tip of his pipe back into the corner of his mouth.

They were just standing there for a while – quiet, just staring at each other intensely. 

“Well, I am pleased to find that you remember something about me, even if it’s only my fireworks.” He nodded swiftly against Bilbo. “So that’s decided. It will be very good for you!” Gandalf released the grip around his staff with one of his hands and pointed his very large finger towards Bilbo who was just standing there like a big question mark. “And most amusing for me”, Gandalf continued, “I shall inform the others.” Gandalf made one last nod towards the confused Bilbo. He was just about to leave his determined spot on the road, when Bilbo reacted. He flinched and twirled anxiously around the spot, pointing the end of his pipe towards Gandalf.

“What? No! Wait…” Bilbo protested and ran up the last stairs up to his green front door. “We do not want any adventures here, thank you! Not today, not tomorrow… I suggest you try over The Hill or… across the Water.” Bilbo’s voice was louder than usual. “Good morning.”

Bilbo threw open his green, almost emerald front door with one hand and ran inside, leaving the wizard alone outside.

Even when Bilbo was finally free from the sight of Gandalf he still felt frantic, and he supported himself on his beautifully painted door. He made a quick motion of locking the door. Not that he thought that the old man would possibly walk up the stairs and try to break in, but just in case.

He stood leaned against his front door for a good few minutes, before he felt his stomach growling. With a smile on his face, forgetting about all his troubles, he rubbed his tummy and headed towards the pantry to stuff some food into his mouth. However he wasn’t aware of what the wizard was doing with the small edge of the very bottom of his staff on Bilbo’s newly painted front door. As the freshly made mark was blazing bright on Bilbo’s door, the wizard chuckled and walked away from Bilbo’s house, to later disappear to the other side of the Water, humming on a quite odd song in the distance.


	3. The Uninvited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited

Things got perfectly peaceful as the night sky covered Bri such as a blanket, however making the atmosphere colder and with occasional purrs of the crickets singing their usual song on the lonely straws of grass over the plains – the sound being mute and soothing, very comfortable indeed.

Bilbo did no longer let his thoughts travel to the very strange event which took place that morning. Him? Bilbo Baggins off on an adventure? Nonsense. No, he had forgotten all about it by now and was instead preparing a lovely supper for himself.

He carefully looked on as it was vaguely spurting in the frying pan on the heated plate above the oven. The fully cooked fish was carefully plucked up from the bottom of the pan by Bilbo’s small spade, to then be place on his almost fully stuffed plate. The tea pot on the stove gave out a high pitched whistle and was thereafter lifted to fill Bilbo’s mug, the young Hobbit sighing complacently to the lovely sight before him on his dinner table – there were freshly cooked and steaming potatoes, carrots and other sorts of vegetables, and then there was also the fish. Bilbo’s stomach growled and he sat down eagerly, tucking his napkin down underneath his shirt, letting it fall over his chest. He took his time to improve the flavour of the food, using spices and the juice of a lemon. His big robe hung open with the strings of cloth falling to the floor, as he did not bother to tie them around his abdomen. He certainly wasn’t expecting anyone so why would he bother?

As Bilbo continued his seasoning of the food, squeezing the piece of lemon in his hand, letting the juice drip over his food, he was suddenly interrupted by three heavy thuds on his front door, and the thuds echoed throughout his house. Bilbo’s gaze anxiously flew up from his beloved food, and his smile immediately vanished from his face.

Bilbo’s rounded front door squeaked as he opened it up, and there standing before him was a quite strange-looking creature – not much taller than a Hobbit, but short enough to fit into Bilbo’s very low-roofed house. The man standing outside the entrance of Bilbo’s house had his back turned towards it but turned around swiftly once the door was opened. Bilbo’s eyes grew to the sight of him. The man’s head was bald at the very top, but which was instead covered by odd-looking tattoos. The rest of the man’s facial hair was growing in large amounts, with big bushy eyebrows, long dark brown hair at the sides of head, a long moustache and a thick beard which reached over his chest. He had a very large nose and scars replacing some hair on his right eyebrow, his eyes dark brown and murderous. He was wearing a dark green hood and a golden belt and a thick cape running down his back from his shoulders. He bowed down deeply before the Hobbit, keeping full eye contact as he went, and with Bilbo eyeing him up and down.

“Dwalin”, he growled, with a voice so deep and mysterious and with an accent hardly recognizable.  _Of course,_  it struck Bilbo suddenly.  _He’s a Dwarf_. “At your service”, Dwalin – apparently – spoke again, this time more kindly, and stood upright.

Without thinking, Bilbo gave out a high pitched squeal, his big eyes growing larger by the second. Swiftly, he started tying his robe around his waist, desperately searching for the right words.

“Bilbo Baggins – at yours”, Bilbo strained his voice to sound as confident as possible, but as he heard himself mumble the words he realised that he had failed. Dwalin, however, did not seem interested in anything the young Hobbit had to say, but instead, without the slightest hesitation nor invitation, entered Bilbo’s house, his footsteps echoing soundly against the wooden floor.

“But do we know each other?” Bilbo asked hastily in confusion, stopping the Dwarf abruptly in his tracks. As far as Bilbo was concerned, he had no business with any Dwarf in his entire lifetime. It was so very strange – the way Dwalin looked upon Bilbo, making him feel so much smaller than what he really was.

“No”, he said, confound to Bilbo’s ignorance. His voice ran deep together with his accent, and he kept walking into the house with no shame, and not bothering taking off his muddy shoes, creating hideous tracks on Bilbo’s earlier shiny floor.

When Dwalin arrived at the very centre of the main hall, he questionably stared down the different hallways leading out through Bilbo’s house.

“Which way, laddie?” Dwalin unbuckled his cape with rough fingers and threw the cape over his large arm, with Bilbo standing behind him not having a single clue of what the Dwarf was talking about. “Is it down here?”

“I-I-Is what down where?” Bilbo stammered, clearly confused, his ignorance understandable. His constantly growing eyes followed Dwalin’s heavy built figure as he was pacing the room. Dwalin turned around and approached Bilbo, throwing his big cape into the Hobbit’s arms causing him to stumble backwards.

“Supper!” Dwalin exclaimed. He did not bother about the fact that Bilbo almost fell over from the weight of the cape. “He said there’d be food, and lots of it.” Dwalin’s accent appeared to be growing deeper by the second, as he lumbered off into the entrance of Bilbo’s dining room. As he disappeared, Bilbo reacted to what the Dwarf had just told him. He flinched and stepped nervously around on the spot with Dwalin’s big cape still in his arms.

“ _He_  said?” Bilbo exclaimed questionably, Dwalin’s rattling, silver coloured armour sounding in the distance. “Who said…?” Bilbo muttered the question quietly to himself, forehead now a big frown, for he had no idea of what was going on.

Dwalin had settled down on one of the chairs by Bilbo’s dining table, and were now feasting upon Bilbo’s supper, crunching soundly on the fish head which was now the last bit of Bilbo’s plate. The Dwarf had a lack of table manners – the juice dripping from the corners of his mouth, and he did not keep his mouth shut while chewing, making a loud of slurping noise. Bilbo on the other hand, sat quietly on a chair in the corner, observing the filthy Dwarf in the shadows, saying nothing. Dwalin breathed heavily in satisfaction.

“Very good, this. Any more?” he growled in between the chews, apparently not yet full.

“What?” Bilbo’s eyes went huge and his lips parted as his eyes travelled from place to place in the room, desperately looking for something edible. “Oh, yes, yes.”

At the little gouging on the window sill with a view over Bilbo’s garden there was a big plate of biscuits placed next to the window, the snack stacked above each other resembling a pyramid. Reluctantly, Bilbo picked up the plate and examined the treat carefully in front of him, before placing the plate in front of the Dwarf by the dinner table. But before he did, he took one of the biscuits for himself, hiding it behind his back. As soon as Dwalin laid his eyes upon the plate he evicted the biscuits whole, chewing them with an open mouth and big appetite.

“Help yourself”, Bilbo muttered quietly, trying to avoid the sight of Dwalin’s eating manners. “It’s just that…” Bilbo tried. Dwalin didn’t even look up, determined to finish the plate in front of him. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

A loud ringing of a doorbell on Bilbo’s front door broke into the silence, causing Bilbo’s gaze to fly up. Something inside of him told him that the foul creatures would keep coming; however he hoped that he was wrong. He gulped, unable to move from his spot next to Dwalin. He could slowly feel how Dwalin’s head turned to gaze upon the Hobbit by his side. It was threatening and the murderous look in his eyes increased as Bilbo was frozen to the floor and unable to move an inch.

“That’ll be the door”, he growled.

As Bilbo opened his rounded, green painted front door for the second time, the creature behind it made him whine unpleasantly, nervously tamping on the wooden floor beneath him with his foot. Surprisingly expectantly this man was also a Dwarf, however much shorter than the one sitting in Bilbo’s dining hall. This Dwarf was also much older, with a significant white beard which fell thick over his chest which was covered in a beautifully patterned cloak. His eyes were a lighter shade of brown, his expression calm and friendly.

“Balin”, he Dwarf smiled. “At your service.”

The Dwarf bowed down deeply before Bilbo, his arms stretched out from either side of his body as he went. Bilbo felt himself growing impatient as he stood by his front door staring at the Dwarf – understandably confused.

“Good evening”, said Bilbo shortly, studying the Dwarf carefully with squinting eyes. As Bilbo spoke the words, Balin turned half way around to examine the country and the plains behind him. He nodded agreeably.

“Yes, yes, it is”, Balin turned around and entered the house. “Though I think it might rain later.”

This time it was Bilbo’s turn to smile and nod in agreement to Balin’s fortune. As he did, he also threw a quick look on the sky outside the majority of it covered by thick clouds with individual holes for the clear sky beneath. “Am I late?”

Bilbo winced in surprise to this, cocking his head to the side.

“Late for what?”

Although, Bilbo did not get his answer, as suddenly Balin let out a loud shout, causing Bilbo to flinch. Balin had apparently turned his attention to the sounds in the dining room and taken notice of Dwalin studding his mouth full of biscuits from a jar in Bilbo’s cupboard. Balin chuckled soundly as he approached Dwalin who stopped his constant search for more food.

“Evening, brother!”

Dwalin put the glass jar of biscuits back down, laughing as he approached his brother.

“By my beard”, he said, grabbing a firm hold on Balin’s two shoulders. “You are shorter and wider than last we met!”

It was the first time that Bilbo had ever seen Dwalin genuinely smile this evening.

“Wider, not shorter”, Balin corrected him in great haste, his smile slowly fainting away from his face. “Sharp enough for both of us”, Balin winked.

Dwalin started laughing, causing his brother to laugh as well. Suddenly they were both laughing cordially; very loud laughter which gave Bilbo a headache. But then the laughter stopped and Dwalin knocked Balin right in his forehead with his own, however thenceforth the laughter started just as loud once again. Bilbo winced in confusion to their confound action, as if they had suddenly solved a long fought brawl amongst each other. Bilbo tried desperately to gain their attention by mumbling inaudible words but they didn’t even react.

“Um, excuse me, sorry. I hate to interrupt, but I am not entirely sure you’re in the right house”, Bilbo reclaimed, however he still failed to gain the Dwarves’ attention, and the two made their way to Bilbo’s pantry where Bilbo had to follow them in their heels.

Dwalin got a mug for himself, pouring the ale from one of the big barrels in the pantry, talking eagerly about something with Blain – the two ignoring Bilbo’s small outside just outside the pantry.

“Have you eaten?” Dwalin muttered as Balin searched through the many shelves of food.

“It’s not that I don’t like visitors”, Bilbo explained to deaf ears. “I like visitors as much as the next Hobbit.”

The Dwarves didn’t even do as much as turn their heads. Bilbo sighed, “But I do like to know them before they come… visiting.”

The Dwarves were busy trying to figure out what Dwalin was holding in his hand – something yellow and blue.

“What is this?” said Dwalin.

“I don’t know, I think it is supposed to be cheese – gone blue.”

“It is riddled with mould.”

“The thing – the thing is”, tried Bilbo.

Dwalin threw the cheese-looking object over his shoulder and it landed behind Bilbo who turned around to watch it fall to the floor. “I-I don’t know either of you. Not in the slightest. I don’t mean to be blunt, b-but I had to speak my mind, I am  _sorry_.” Bilbo raised his hands apologetically, and the Dwarves stopped, turning around to face him. Bilbo cleared his throat and awaited their response. Silence filled the air – an awkward and uncomfortable silence which caused shivers to run down Bilbo’s spine. Until suddenly, Balin smiled, sending wrinkles across his face.

“Apology accepted”, he said.

Bilbo frowned. His eyes were growing darker and his patience was dropping more rapidly. The Dwarves turned back to whatever they were doing, leaving Bilbo with his lost expression outside the pantry. Balin pushed his mug against his brother’s chest.

“Now fill it up, brother, don’t just stand there”, he said.

The doorbell rang throughout the house once again. The Dwarves did not react, but kept plucking amongst the food on the shelves. Ever so slowly Bilbo turned around to face the door which seemed to grow larger in the distance.

Bilbo was faced by two younger Dwarves; the one to the left standing by the entrance had light blonde hair and yellow beard, resembling a lion altogether, with two slim braids on either side of his head in front of both his ears. His hair was elaborate, a lot of braids very neatly put together. His moustache had braids as well with a metallic end to them. He wore a brown skin rug with fur running down his chest, and a blue cloak. On his back he carried armour of all kinds, together with weapons and tools which rustled when he moved. His facial expression was friendly and calm, smiling gently towards Bilbo, his blue eyes glimmering such as diamonds.

The Dwarf standing by his side had slight facial hair – stub, cold, dark-brown eyes; his facial expression was hard as he stared intensely upon Bilbo. His hair was not as thick as the blond Dwarf next to him, but it was almost roguish and straggling and loose. He had no braids what so ever, but he let it all fly loose. He wore a blue, thick leather cape and skin rug, armour weighing down his back.

However, they were not the only ones at the door because Bilbo’s gaze travelled to something – more like someone – behind the two Dwarves, a creature with blue eyes and auburn hair – a woman, not much taller than the Dwarves. Her auburn hair looked so very soft and shiny and thick, her skin was creamy and light, her lips full and figure slim. Her body was covered in a brown leather dress with a hood, the dress revealing her thighs underneath and the high boots that she was wearing. She was so stunningly beautiful; Bilbo could feel the air getting thicker around him and his heartbeat increased rapidly. She smiled cordially towards him, making his heart flutter uncontrollably, although, there was something about her which separated her features largely from the rest – her ears. They reached high up through her hair curtains, pointy at the edges. No doubt she was an Elf.

Bilbo squealed as he felt the two Dwarves’ hard facial expressions drilling his figure.

“Fili”, the blond Dwarf exclaimed.

“And Kili”, said the second Dwarf, his voice determined. The two of them bowed down deep before the Hobbit. The Elf did not, but simply stoop patiently behind the Dwarves, her eyes glistening, and for some unknown reason she looked nervous.

“At your service” said the two Dwarves in sync as they stood upright and gave Bilbo a genuine smile.

“You must be Mr Boggins”, said Kili, pronouncing Bilbo’s name all wrong. But their smiles were charming and so full of light and happiness that Bilbo took no notice of it.

“No”, said Bilbo in defence. “You can’t come in; you’ve come to the wrong house.” He was just about to close the rounded front door in their faces when Kili hit it back up. Bilbo flinched to the heavy and strong action of the Dwarf, noticing how the young Elf tugged on his back to prevent him from doing another move, the first one being a little rough.

“What?” Kili exclaimed, his facial expression suddenly wild of confusion. Fili got up closer to Kili’s side, and the Elf cocked her head to the side. “Has it been cancelled?”

“No one told us”, Fili added, switching his gaze from his brother Kili to Bilbo. Their foreheads were frowned as they awaited Bilbo’s answer, as they believed he had one. He didn’t even have the slightest idea what they were talking about. Bilbo frowned, staring at the two Dwarves who were actually equally confused as Bilbo was for once.

“Cancelled? No, nothing’s been cancelle-.”

“That’s a relief!” Kili grinned and pushed himself through the door and into Bilbo’s house. His brother Fili nodded approvingly as he pushed himself past the door as well. Bilbo reluctantly let the two Dwarves inside, Fili judging him as he walked past.

The two Dwarf brothers fumbled around the main hall for a while, investigating every possible thing in their surroundings. Bilbo was still holding the door open for the Elf, and she thankfully walked inside with a careful smile on her face. But as she walked past him, Bilbo noticed something slim and shiny at the sides of her boots – two sharp blades tucked into sheaths were sitting by each boot, and it frightened Bilbo a bit. All these weapons he was not used to be seeing.

Once Bilbo had once again closed his front door to uninvited guests, he turned to the two Dwarf brothers and the Elf. The Elf walked up to him and carefully reached out her hand, smiling gently. Bilbo couldn’t help but smile back as he took her hand in his.

“You’re a Wood Elf”, Bilbo said, almost amazed.

“I’m Aria”, she said, her voice having a pleasant and beautiful clang to it, almost hypnotizing - a sound that Bilbo could fall asleep to. Determinedly, he cleared his throat.

“I am-“

Aria cut him off, “Bilbo Baggins”, she grinned.

Bilbo nodded.

“I know, or I wouldn’t be here.”

“Speaking of which, why are you here?” he had to ask. His question was ignored.

“I’m honoured to finally meet you”, she said.

“L-likewise”, stammered Bilbo, holding Aria’s hand so carefully as if he was afraid to break it. He witnessed how her smile grew even wider. She threw a quick look over her shoulder, gazing upon the two Dwarf brothers doing silly things.

“You’ll have to excuse them, they’re a bit… cheeky”, she said, and Bilbo nodded slowly.

“Of course”, he said shortly, feeling how small his voice had become.

“Careful with these. I’ve just had them sharpened”, muttered Fili and threw his stack of weapons, tools and armour into Bilbo’s small arms, causing him to stumble due to the weights. Fili’s voice was somewhat softer and calmer than before. He rose one foot at a time, sliding knives out of their sheaths which were fastened to each boot just like Aria’s. Fili found knives a bit everywhere in his cloak, even in his hair, hood and beard.

Meanwhile, Kili walked around, examining the hall and everything else around him.

“It’s nice, this place. Did you do it yourself?” he asked.

“What? No, it has been in the family for years.” Just as Bilbo mentioned this, Kili started dragging his muddy shoes on the corners of a small box in one of the corners. There was a trail of mud around Bilbo’s house and the mud was now dripping from the corners of the wooden box.

“That is my mother’s glory bow! Can you please not do that”, Bilbo exclaimed.

In that moment, Dwalin entered the main hall from the pantry, causing Aria to gasp at the sight of him and a smile spread across her beautiful lips.

“Dwalin!” she shrieked, running up to the muscular Dwarf, only to be greeted with his arms stretched out to embrace her, such as an excited child running up to her father.

“Ah, Aria!” Dwalin chuckled soundly as he carried her tiny figure off the floor in a great bear embrace. Aria’s laugh was clinging throughout the house, the sound surprisingly calming.

“Long time no see, love.”

“Too long”, Aria nodded agreeably and continued into the dining room.

“Fili, Kili, come on. Give us a hand!” Dwalin grasped steadily around Kili’s shoulders and pulled him along into Bilbo’s dining room. Kili smiled up to the Dwarf much taller than himself, putting his arm around Dwalin as well.

“Mr Dwalin!” he sighed, obediently following him into the room. Fili followed right behind them, the two Dwarf brothers being greeted by Balin outside the dining hall, patting each other’s shoulders as a respectful gesture. The Dwarves made themselves at home swiftly.

“Let’s shove this in the hall with the other one or we’ll never get everyone in”, Balin commanded, pointing towards Bilbo’s large dining table in the centre of the room. To Bilbo it felt like ages ago since he sat down by that dinner table to have a quiet meal. Together, the four Dwarves and Aria collaborated to move the dinner table out of the room, as Bilbo sighed anxiously, pacing the room with Fili’s supplies still heavily weighing down his arms.

“Everyone? How many more are there?” Bilbo demanded to know, but in his sentence his doorbell rang, echoing throughout the house once again, and immediately cracking his patience into pieces. Bilbo hurried with quick and heavy steps towards the door. He felt the rage growing inside of him as he just could not take it anymore.

“No, no! There’s nobody home!” Bilbo shouted furiously towards his front door. As Bilbo noticed what he was carrying, he threw Fili’s weapons onto the floor, the metals making a loud rattling sound as they hit the wood. “Go away and bother somebody else! There are far too many Dwarves, and… and an Elf… in my dining room as it is!” Bilbo kept channelling all of his rage onto the uninvited behind his door. He was frowning and gnashing his teeth. “I-I-If this is some clotted’s idea of a joke”, Bilbo exhaled a high pitched laugh. “I can only say that it is a poor one!”

In that second, Bilbo swung his front door right open and what appeared before him he certainly did not expect. Around ten different sized Dwarves fell and stumbled into Bilbo’s house, falling flat to the floor as they were leaning on Bilbo’s door and did not expect its sudden opening. They grunted and moaned to each other’s weight on top of one another. Bilbo was petrified, staring at the stack of Dwarves lying on his floor – for what seemed in great pain. As the Dwarves tried to get onto their feet, Bilbo noticed someone standing outside the entrance – too tall to be seen, but as the figure hunched, peeking through the entrance of Bilbo’s house, the Hobbit exhaled a loud sigh.

 

“Gandalf…” 


	4. Twelve Dwarves And An Elf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited

”Those are mine!” the Dwarves yelled amongst themselves, pulling and tugging on different plates of food, knocking things out of place as they went. The majority of them had gathered in Bilbo’s pantry, stealing food from the shelves and filling their mugs up with ale in the very tiny room, and Bilbo feared that they would never stop – just plucking and plucking of his food until there would be none left of it, and he’d have to fill his pantry all over again which was certainly not a big bag of laughs the first time around. Tomatoes, beetroot, sweet peas, cucumbers and all kinds of root crops were taken out of the pantry and onward to the dining hall. Bilbo had thought it was kind enough of him to invite twelve Dwarves and an Elf into his house to stay, along with a very confound wizard, and most of them he had not known longer than a few hours. Now he had to share his food as well, and at this point he was not sure of how much he could cope with.

As Bilbo went around shouting and telling the Dwarves off, he was with no doubt ignored. They did not listen to his opinion about the situation what so ever which came as no bigger surprise. They were as deaf to his voice as Dwalin and Balin had been earlier that evening.

The Dwarves carried all that they could find from the pantry, out into the dining hall and placed the stuffed plates of food down on the long, wooden table. Knives and forks were put out as well, along with mugs already filled with ale. Bilbo’s entire house was a utter and complete mess.

“Put that back! Put that back!” Bilbo kept on yelling towards every Dwarf who passed him by with a plate stuffed with vegetables of meat. “Not the jam, please! Excuse me!”

A Dwarf with ginger coloured hair and beard which was braided down his very large belly came out of the small pantry, and with him he carried three big rolls of cheese placed on a wooden board in his hands, causing Bilbo to stop and stare in disbelief.

“Um, excessive, isn’t it? Have you got a cheese knife?” Bilbo asked as the big stomached Dwarf disappeared into the dining room, his footsteps thumping against the wooden floor. However, the Dwarf did not answer which yet again didn’t exactly come as a surprise to Bilbo at this point, so instead of bothering chasing after him, Bilbo corrected his suspender strap which had fallen down from his shoulder.

“Cheese knife?” Another Dwarf exclaimed behind Bilbo, shaking his head to the Hobbit’s ignorance. “He eats it by the block!” The Dwarf held a big cutting board with ham stacked upon it in his hands that he later carried out into the dining room along with the rest, laughing as he went.

Everywhere Bilbo turned he saw Dwarves – all in different sizes, all in different weird ways of acting and moving. The young Hobbit felt how his head was spinning, but as he noticed how one of the Dwarves were carrying out a chair, heading towards the dining hall, Bilbo walked up to him with haste and started pushing the chair back towards the Dwarf, demanding that he took it back to the room where it came from.

“Take it back! Take it back, please.”

The Dwarf had a thick grey beard and hair, with a large nose and started pointing towards his ear in confusion.

“I can’t hear what you’re sayin’, lad”, the Dwarf raised his voice, although obediently took the chair back to its original place.

The plates of food that was carried out into the dining hall never ended, which made Bilbo lightheaded and dizzy. Gandalf had to bend down through the different entrances not to hit his head in the roof and walls, and he was also forced to hunch constantly as he was placing out the plates and cutlery around the dining table frame.

“Excuse me, Mr Gandalf?” A Dwarf with a little braided basket in his arms came up to the tall wizard who – at the moment wore no hat on his head. Placed on the little basket that the Dwarf was carrying were a teapot and two small cups, all beautifully decorated with flowers. The Dwarf’s beard was braided, as were the hair on his head and it rounded his head artistically in some odd-looking hairstyle. Gandalf stopped his doing of succumb and turned around to face the Dwarf.

“Yes?” he said, his tone of voice calm and kind, his figure still hunching to avoid the ceiling. The Dwarf raised the basket up high so that the wizard could see it.

“May I tempt you with a cup of Camomile?” he asked with a smile while pouring the steaming liquid into one of the cups.

“Oh, no thank you, Dori. A little red wine for me, I think”, Gandalf nodded. Dori’s smile did slowly faint away from his face as he put the teapot back down onto the basked joining the cups. As Dori trotted away with the tea, Gandalf finished off succumb in a flash and went out into the main hall with Dwarves running around him in a great hurry. The running caused occasional bumps with the Dwarves, and Gandalf walked with head first into a lamp crown hanging from the ceiling, and he anxiously straightened it out, afraid that it would came crashing down.

Fili and Kili, along with Aria trotted out through the pantry carrying on a big barrel of ale, the three helping each other carry it into the next room. As they went, Gandalf turned around to face them in great relief, sighing.

“Ah! Fili, Kili and Aria!” he nodded towards them, smiling. The three looked up to meet the wizard’s gaze and smiled back to later disappear into the dining hall.

The almost deaf Dwarf with the thick, dark grey hair and beard came out of the pantry together with the Dwarf with ginger hair.

“Oin, Gloin.” Gandalf was now counting the present Dwarves on his fingers, one by one, cocking his eyebrows occasionally to try to remember if he had forgotten anyone. “Bifur, Bofur and Bombur”, he remembered seeing. “Dori, Nori.”

In that moment, Bilbo came out into the main hall trying to take back a bowl of tomatoes from the youngest Dwarf’s hands who were trying to take the bowl onwards to the dinner table in a struggling need.

“Ori!” Gandalf exclaimed to the right of him, as Ori lost the fight of the tomatoes, and Bilbo went back to the pantry to put the tomatoes back, though what he did not know was that they were going to disappear again just as quickly.

Gandalf muttered quietly to himself, observing the number of his fingers and his forehead turned into a concerned frown.

“We appear to be one Dwarf short.” Gandalf’s words were mainly meant to be heard by his ears alone, although it was loud enough for Dwalin to hear them. He stood leaned against the wall right outside the dining hall, quietly sipping on his ale.

“He is late, is all”, he growled. “He travelled north to a meeting with our kin. He will come”, Dwalin assured the wizard, sipping on the remainder of his ale. Gandalf suddenly exhaled a sigh below his breath and let his thoughts travel to the figure in the dining hall, his gaze getting stuck on her – Aria. She was leaning over the dinner table to shove a piece of meat into Fili’s already stuffed mouth, laughing as he could barely chew it, and Fili grinned in between the chews. Gandalf shook his head unbearably and witnessed how Dwalin followed Gandalf’s gaze and turned around to let his eyes get stuck on the Elf as well.

“Is he aware of her presence here?” Gandalf turned his attention back to Dwalin who shook his head slowly, his facial expression serious.

“They have not heard from one another in more than sixty years”, muttered Dwalin. “You can understand their suffering.”

Aria turned her head around, twitching her ear towards the two figures in the main hall. Her beautiful, infectious smile washed away from her lips, and it was replaced with a serious and concerned facial expression, a wrinkle forming in between her eyebrows. The two brothers – Fili and Kili – noticed her sudden change of emotion. Kili’s gaze caught Gandalf’s and the Dwarf slowly shook his head, his dark brown eyes growing in concern and seriousness. Gandalf raised his chin as a sign that he had understood.

“Well, I guess it will come as a quite pleasant surprise for him”, Gandalf spoke quickly, as low as he possible could but with no luck.

“Or quite unpleasant”, and with that, Dwalin left tis spot by the wall, leaving Gandalf to it.

“Mr Gandalf.”

The wizard turned around to the sound of his name and hummed to himself. He was once again faced by Dori who was now holding two tiny glasses of some red liquid. “A glass of red wine as requested. It has got some fruity bokay.” Dori reached the little glass of wine up to Gandalf who thankfully took it.

“Cheers”, he said and emptied the little glass of its content in a swift second.

Bilbo who now stood quietly in a lonely corner of the main hall had both of his hands on top of his head, staring wildly around himself, having a hard time catching his breath to what he had been experiencing. Bilbo’s long dining table was not full of different plates containing different crops and foods; there was ham, which was sliced up into thin, fine pieces. There were tomatoes, cheese, cabbage, bread, more of Bilbo’s biscuits, cakes and cookies. There were apples, both in green and red. There were potato slices, carrots, lemon, yellow and red tomatoes, onion, aubergine, and also all kinds of different mushrooms.

The Dwarves had no table manners what so ever; they reached far over the table to pluck from the different plates, plucking the food with their bare hands and occasionally dipping their beards into various of different foods as they went. Once they got a hold on what they wanted they simply shoved the food straight into their mouths, chewing soundly and with parted lips. The knives and forks by their plated remained untouched. More food was placed onto the table by the second, quite surprising indeed; meat and sausages in long clots.

“Want some of that?” Kili reached out some tomato slices towards Aria sitting by his side, the black haired Dwarf soundly munching on the food in his mouth, his cheeks bulging from the amount of stuffed food. However, Aria simply shook her head with a smile as response.

Bombur had his food stacked up on his plate before him – mountain-like, and he stuffed it all into his mouth at once.

“Bombur, catch!” Bofur exclaimed throwing a piece of mushroom in the big stomached Dwarf’s direction, and Bombur caught it with his mouth. The rest of the Dwarves cheered with loud voices and mouths stuffed with food. The laughter and cheer constantly increased, the company of Dwarves starting to throw food everywhere over the table and on each other.

Aria had stuffed even more food into Fili’s and Kili’s mouths who were sitting on either side of her, and all around them the Dwarves were cheering uncontrollably to see which one of the brothers could fit the most. Until Kili finally spat out and there were further cheering and yelling around the dinner table.

Bilbo did not join the festivities, as he did not think he was invited; although the biggest reason was that he simply did not want to. He was standing in the solitude outside the dining room, watching the company eat from his food and making a mess out of everything that they laid their hands upon, and as Bilbo turned around to examine his pantry of its content – it was empty. There wasn’t a single shelf that hadn’t been emptied of food, and the ale barrels were completely gone or just emptied of its content as well. Bilbo exhaled a huge sigh. He had known all along that it would be unwise to let Dwarves into his house from the very start.

Fili climbed up onto the dining table, stumbling and tripping over the plates as he went with three filled mugs in his hands.

“Who wants an ale?” he exclaimed over the company of fellow Dwarves, being forced to hunch to prevent his head from hitting the ceiling. “There you go!” And with that he shoved the mug into Dwalin’s arms. Aria pulled Fili down from the table and he fell down into his seat, giggling.

It was the sound of sheer happiness and enjoyment which echoed throughout the village. They were talking so very loudly that they could be heard from Bilbo’s garden, and they continued cheering and laughing to absolute nonsense.

“I said have another drink!” Dwalin growled with his accent heavy and husky, and without the slightest hesitation he emptied his mug of ale into Oin’s hearing tube. “Here you go.”

The ale ran down through the tube and into Oin’s ear which made him flinch away, and he emptied the tube by blowing it out through the far end of the tube, and all of the ale spurted out over table. The Dwarves’ laughter filled the dining room even louder than before, and Dwalin hit his fists into the table from his intense laughter.

Aria supported herself on Kili because of how hard he was laughing – the clinging tone filling the room such as tower bells in the nights, and the Dwarf held her close for her not to fall over completely.

The company held their mugs up high for a toast and the lot clashed together in the middle of the table, the Dwarves letting out howls out of happiness and cheer.

“On the count of three!” Bofur exclaimed as the mugs slammed together, and a wide smile spread across the Dwarf’s face.

“One!”

“Two-“

“Up!” yelled Kili, interrupting Ori’s countdown, his mouth stuffed with food. The Dwarves turned their mugs upside-down, letting the tasty liquid run down their throats, occasionally spilling into their beards. Aria did the exact same thing – after spending the last sixty years together with Fili and Kili, she had learned how to be just as nasty as the two of them, and she let the ale droplets run down over her cheeks.

When every single Dwarf had finally emptied their mugs, the lot exhaled huge burps and filthy noises, although the loudest of them all was Ori who made everyone burst out into laughter. Aria let out a high pitched howl from the taste of the ale and the Dwarves kept cheering.

Bilbo felt how the rage was bubbling within him. Everything was making him annoyed and grumpy at the moment. Once the Dwarves had finished their long and noisy meal – eating up every last piece of food that was left from Bilbo’s pantry, they were walking around trying to find something reasonable to dry themselves on, and it didn’t really matter when Bilbo told them not to.

“Excuse me”, he said. “That is a doily, not a dishcloth!” The young Hobbit furiously snatched his fancy white doily out of Nori’s hands and started folding it neatly. The unmoved Nori continued into the kitchen with a sausage chain hanging over his one shoulder. Bofur stood leaned against one of the walls in the kitchen; a mug filled with ale in his hand and watched Bilbo put the doily back in its rightful place.

“But it’s full of holes!” he pointed out.

“It’s supposed to look like that, it’s crochet”, Bilbo hissed back in response, muttering below his breath about the ignorance of the Dwarf.

“And a wonderful game it is too, if you’ve got the balls for it”, Bofur chuckled.

Bilbo whined, his muscles tensing and his hands folded into threatening fists as he gritted his teeth.

“Bebother and confusticate these Dwarves!” he exclaimed harshly in silence. He was furious, exhausted and his patience had completely and utterly dropped to the floor. As he spoke, his hard fists were flying all over the place in his surroundings as he spoke in quiet hope that they would find their target – the Dwarves’ faces. Although he stood in a corner in his kitchen preventing himself from carrying out the action of his determined fists who occasionally seemed to have a mind of their own. He was hoping that by standing there for a while, perhaps the band of trouble would eventually go away – disappear, vanish, as if they were never there.

“My dear Bilbo”, Gandalf came trudging through the entrance of the kitchen. “What on earth is the matter?” His back was crooked as usual – his figure hunching, and his fingers were folded around the handle of his ale mug. He trudged past Bofur and Nori, his footsteps softly thumping in the wooden floor, and with a concerned frown on his face he looked down upon Bilbo awaiting an answer.

“’What’s the matter’?” Bilbo repeated furiously, his fists shaking uncontrollably by his sides. “I am surrounded by  _Dwarves_! What are they doing here?” he hissed, now seriously demanding an answer. He watched the wizard who towered over him, with threatening yet confused eyes. How could Gandalf not possibly be aware of the intruders this evening making a mess out of everything that Bilbo owned? However, Bilbo had understood by the look of the Dwarves that they did not bother taking notice of the little Hobbit what so ever, not noticing that he was even present.

Gandalf did not respond to Bilbo’s utterly furious request of getting rid of the Dwarves, but he just said calmly, “Oh, they are quite a merry gathering once you get used to them.” Gandalf watched from his towering height how Bofur was trying to snatch the sausage chain off of Nori’s shoulder, however failed as Nori fought back, and Bilbo could indicate slight uncertainty in the wizard’s expression as he watched upon the fight.

“I don’t want to get  _used_  to them”, Bilbo’s tone was harsh and determined. To avoid any of the Dwarves from the company ease dropping on their conversation they walked out through the kitchen entrance which was leading through the hallway, Bilbo in the lead and Gandalf following in his heels.

“Look at the state of my kitchen! There’s mud trod into the carpet. They pillage the pantry!” Bilbo ranted on an on, pointing towards the individual things, the like of which he brought up into the conversation. “I am not even going to tell you what they’ve done in the bathroom.” But he did so anyway. “They’ve destroyed the plumbing; I don’t understand what they’re doing in my house!” Bilbo’s words came out so very quickly through his mouth that it was hard for the wizard to determine what it was the Hobbit was trying to say. Bilbo could finally inhale once again after his never-ending sentence.

As the two figures of the opposite heights were standing in the middle of the main hall on Bilbo’s colourful and beautifully patterned carpet, he looked all around trying to catch his breath which had grown awfully short. Everywhere he turned; his big eyes got stuck on individual pieces of food which had been thrown, making a trail through his house, and the muddy footprints trailing all over the place as well, and for some odd reason it made Bilbo’s head spin.

“Excuse me.”

And unfamiliar voice snatched Bilbo back into reality, his frame turning around to face the youngest Dwarf out of the company – Ori. “I am sorry to interrupt, but what should I do with my plate?” The Dwarf – the same height as Bilbo – held out an almost clean plate, although at this point – Bilbo found that there was no time for courtesy. Instead he kept quiet, sighing and squeezing his eyelids shut.

“Here you go, Ori, give it to me.” Fili took the plate out of Ori’s hands with ease. He had appeared behind Bilbo, walking into the main hall through the dining hall entrance, and a mischievous smirk covering his lips, his blue eyes glistering from the same mischief as he suddenly threw the plate across the room, causing Bilbo’s jaw to drop in horror, his eyes once again growing huge and the oxygen in his surroundings grew oddly thick. Gandalf had to swiftly move aside to prevent getting hit by the plate flying through the air in his direction, and just as the plate was about to break on the floor, Kili caught it with his one hand, his figure standing by the entrance to the dining hall, his grin just as playful as his brother’s. As Kili caught the plate, he passed it on to the Dwarves sitting by the table in the dining hall, which caught it with similar ease. Their reflexes were so swift, the Dwarf brothers hardly concentrating at all that they could do this all day – passing both plates and bottles between each other from room to room.

Fili continuously received new plates in his hands, throwing them in Kili’s direction. Once they reached the dining hall, Bifur caught them from behind his back and stacked them on top of each other on the dining table after cleaning them to spotless perfection.

“Excuse me! That’s my mother’s West Farthing pottery. It’s over 100 years old!” Bilbo uttered in sheer horror as the plates and bowl flew through the air dangerously close to the floor, although were caught once again by the hand of Kili who effortlessly prevented the pottery from breaking into thousands of shiny pieces in the likeness of sand in the desert – of course along with his big brother.

As Bilbo uttered the frightened words in concern of the pottery’s wellbeing, he certainly got no response in return. None of the Dwarves took any notice of him. Fili had started bouncing the bottles up and down on his shoulders and arms, from left to right and with a quite amused and focused expression sewn to his face, never dropping a single one of the fancy plates and bottles. As Fili witnessed the horrified expression on Bilbo’s face however, a huge smile painted across the Dwarf’s lips and he burst into laughter.

Bilbo felt as if he was going completely mental, running around the Dwarves to make sure that they dropped nothing, although his concern was to no use. He felt himself going dizzy and lightheaded. Fili bounced yet another bottle from left to right upon his forearms and threw it away in the direction of his brother who caught it with a cheeky expression, a pipe clutched in his one palm.

The majority of the remainders of the Dwarfen company were sitting around the dining table, pounding the floor, creating loud thumps with their hard, Dwarfen boots. Each and every single one of them had a knife and fork in hand, smashing and scraping them against each other, creating squeaking noises, altogether creating a beat and a tune.

“Can you not do that? You’ll blunt them!” Bilbo exclaimed into the dining hall, his fingers now anxiously rubbing into the centre of his palm fairly quickly.

Whilst there were Dwarf brothers catching pottery in between each other and the rest of the company creating thumps and squeaks with boots and cutlery; Aria was the only one apart from Bilbo and Gandalf who differed from this unusual act of the Dwarves. She stood leaned against one of the walls in the dining hall, smoking pipe weed and watching the scene with a somewhat amused expression which soon dropped as something in her conscious shook her. Her eyes were filled with fear and worry that no one noticed, her blue gaze pierced to the dining hall floor. Her full lips occasionally parted to exhale white smoke, the like of which vanished in the air. Her left leg was crooked in a position which made her brown leather dress fall to the side to show off the visible skin on her leg, and some of her leather boot.

“Oh! Did you hear that lads? He says we’ll blunt the knives!” Bofur sung out in cheer, and at the same time, Fili got one of the plates and threw it under his leg in the direction of his brother who once again caught it with ease and joy. And as the thumping in the floor and squeaking amongst curtly continued, the Dwarves broke out in song.

_Blunt the knifes, bend the forks_

_Smash the bottles, and burn the corks_

_Chip the glasses, and crack the plates_

_That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!_

_Cut the cloth, and tread on the fat_

_Leave the bones on the bedroom mat_

_Pour the milk on the pantry floor_

_Splash the wine on every door!_

_Dumb the crocks in a boiling bowl;_

_Pound them up with a thumping pole;_

_And when you’ve finished, if any are whole,_

_Send them down the hall to roll!_

 

The Dwarves had driven the little Hobbit entirely mad out of worry for his precious plates and bowls and curtly, however he simply did not have the courage to act on his emotions. No matter how dangerously close the pottery got to the floor, the Dwarves did not drop a single one, and yet Bilbo’s wide little eyes had grown so big that it was soon enough hard to be able to blink.

The two Dwarf brothers who were so very close to Aria’s heart had ripped her away from her leaning spot against the wall and together they put a wide smile on her face, effortlessly indeed. Together, the three of them were standing by Gandalf’s side at the far end of the dining hall table, their laughter joining the rest of the Dwarf’s – their laughter so childish, yet excellently entertaining, and with one mug of ale each in hand, the Dwarves finished their song,

“That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!”

The twelve Dwarves exclaimed together in forceful roaring tones, making yet another toast – smashing the mugs together and laughing at the top of their lungs.

Bilbo made his way through the companied Dwarves in his dining hall, pushing their massive frames – compared to his own – aside, until he found himself face to face with the stack of pottery – bottles, plates and curtly laying in a neat row on his table. It was shining and glimmering – cleaned to utter gloss with not a single trail of food left, nor any tracks of dirt.

The entire company were not gathered around the dining hall table, some standing up, some sitting down, and at the very end of the table sat Gandalf, smirking deviously to the magnificent party, and by his side stood Aria – beautiful and smiling, slightly nibbling at the tip of her thumb. However Bilbo could not determine whether there were pity or cheer in the Elf’s expression.

“Look at him!” laughed Kili, pointing with a hunched back towards Bilbo and with his pipe clutched in his other hand.

There was a thud on the front door to Bilbo’s house - three thuds, causing the cheerful laughter to die down and evolve into silence. The Dwarves’ faces dropped to emotionless expressions as the gazes turned to the front door in the distance, and in the utter and complete silence of Bilbo’s house, the company could hear how Aria suddenly stopped breathing. Many, many eyes looked upon her, although only for a cautious second. She bit the inside of her bottom lip and let her nails dig into the centre of her palm. Sheer fear and agony where now visible in her blue eyes for who were present on the other side of Bilbo’s door, until Fili silently grabbed a hold of her hand, preventing the blood from being shed into her palm.

Gandalf looked upon Aria in the corner of his eye before he uttered the words into the dimness,

 

“He’s here.” 


	5. A Burglar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited

The rounded front door – painted all in green – swung open, squealing a little as it went. The quite tall and muscular Dwarf standing on the other side of the door turned his gaze away from the plains, which created the beautiful view in front of Bilbo’s house, and he fixated his eyes upon the wizard. His eyes glimmered in the gloom light, indicating the colour of the purest sapphires.

The Dwarf was wearing a big, thick leather cloak with a fur pelt running down his muscular chest, causing him to look a lot like a bison. He had long, wavy hair – cole black in colour, stroking down his back, and at the very roots of his hair, grey was growing, indicating wisdom and age of the slightest kind. His face was calm and wise, his expression almost ancient, despite the few grey hairs at the Dwarf’s hair roots he looked unexpectedly young for his lifetime.

He wore a full moustache growing down over his chin, braided neatly with metallic ends and jewellery. He was a bold leader of the rarest kind – his heart brave and strong, his hands able to handle weapons from swords and axes to bows and smaller knives, his muscles able to snap the neck of an orc. Yet his frame seemed secure and cosy, kind and understanding – able to shield anyone from any kind of harm. He had protected and served, until his days of leadership had finally come.

His neck was tilted down, his eyes forced to roll up to be able to spot the wizard behind the big wall which separated their gazes.

“Gandalf”, he spoke, his voice just as ancient and in the resemblance to the one amongst the company with equal beauty to the Dwarf’s voice. It was husky and deep, rolling through a dimness somewhere in his throat; it caused people to stop and listen.

As the Dwarf with the sapphire eyes looked upon the wizard, his expression immediately illuminated, his face apparent like rays of sunlight, a small smile appearing on his lips as the corners turned askew; and without hesitation he stomped into the house just like the others had before him - heavy and sounding thuds in the floor as he walked in, his muddy trails joining the rest in the main hall of Bilbo’s house.

“I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way – twice.”

The Dwarf walked past the wizard who held the front door wide open for the Dwarf with the sapphire eyes – the Dwarf holding his head high, determined and proud with a steady fist folded around the buckle to his fur pelt. The rest of the companied Dwarves stood right beside the open entrance - gathered together such as a loyal army gather before their leader. The company looked upon the thirteenth member of the Dwarves with respect and loyalty – their frames bowing down before him as he walked past and the Dwarf threw his fellow members a quick, greeting smile, his blue eyes continuously glimmering.

“I had not found it at all if it weren’t for that mark on the door”, he snorted, unbuckling his fur pelt which had gotten just a slight bit too warm inside Bilbo’s house, and as he did, Kili entered the gloom light from the shadows of the house with Fili by his side – putting a wide grin on the sapphire-eyed Dwarf’s lips, the very sight of his nephews putting a genuine smile on his face. The two Dwarf brothers took their places by their uncle’s side – the Heirs of Durin having been reunited once more. Fili diverged from his uncle’s appearance due to his light blond hair; however Kili was the exact resemblance of his uncle – same muscular frame, similar cole black hair and hard jaw.

As Bilbo heard the Dwarf utter his words about the mark on Bilbo’s expectedly untouched door, he winced and hurried with quick steps through the crowd of assembled Dwarves and trotted up to the wizard, a bothered frown on his face.

“Mark?” he exclaimed. “There’s no mark on that door, it was painted a week ago!” The Hobbit was clearly confused and again upset, taking no notice of his newest guest by his side. Bilbo tried to desperately catch a glimpse of the front of his green door, but Gandalf closed it heavily shut before he could.

“There is a mark. I have put it there myself”, Gandalf explained, nodding, for indeed he had that morning of his visit to Bilbo’s house. Gandalf’s gaze turned to the sapphire-eyed Dwarf – the newest arrival of the company. “Bilbo Baggins,” the wizard pointed with a merciful hand towards the Hobbit by his side and watched as the sapphire-eyed Dwarf turned his attention away from his nephews and pinned his gaze onto the little Hobbit. “Allow me to introduce the leader of our company – Thorin Oakenshield.”

Bilbo turned to face Thorin who had done likewise; a still confused expression however, painted onto Bilbo’s face. Thorin smiled gently towards the Hobbit, his height clearly towering over him – his smile radiant and contagious, his eyes seemed to grow deeper blue. He had managed to unbuckle his fur pelt, thenceforth unapologetically pushed it into Kili’s arms, putting two heavy hands on each one of Bilbo’s shoulders.

“So,” Thorin growled, his voice husky and magnificent. “This is the Hobbit.”

With two harsh eagle eyes, Thorin studied the young Hobbit up and down, holding him carefully not to break him. He smiled once again, causing his blue eyes to glimmer like the bright stars above, and he started trudging around Bilbo’s delicate frame, his footsteps heavy and echoing against the floor.

“Tell me, Mr Baggins, have you done much fighting?”

“Pardon me?” Bilbo tried to catch Thorin’s sapphire gaze, however failed as the Dwarf continued pacing around him.

“Axe or sword? What’s your weapon of choice?” Thorin’s voice ran deep and soothing – calm, yet determined and strict, as he knew exactly what he was talking about. His big hands - covered with battle scars and a single pink scar differing from the rest of them, apparently running deeper in every way – was wrapped around his chest, awaiting an answer.

“Well, I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know. But I fail to see why that’s relevant”, Bilbo spoke with confidence, his voice eventually evolving into a soft mumble as he witnessed how the Dwarf before him - along with some of the others in the company - chuckled below hearing. Things got quiet and uncomfortable, Bilbo twirling nervously on the spot.

“Thought as much”, Thorin had his arms crossed over his chest. “He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.” Thorin smirked obliquely towards Bilbo and threw his gaze towards his company who chuckled to his words, smiling and grinning along.

However, suddenly Thorin stopped everything that he was doing – he didn’t move an inch, his frame petrified, his breath thick as he had stopped breathing to what he had seen amongst them, because he believed that his eyes must have been cursed by some spell for his sight was really that magnificent and unbelievable – almost alien in his sapphire gaze. At this moment, everything else was just static but the sight before him. It truly did seem like he had seen a ghost – his face growing yet paler and paler due to the lack of air. He strained his fists by his sides, digging his nails into the centre of his palm until his knuckles were starting to whiten. His lips parted and his blue eyes grew slightly wider as his frame turned towards the silhouette in the shadows. It would have been impossible to notice Aria from where Thorin stood in the main hall – the Elf blocked by ten Dwarves and was covered by almost the entire dining hall wall.

She stood leaned against the wall in the dining room, too afraid to come out, too scared to show herself in the light, so instead she stood in the gloom, her hair curtains shaping her face and her deep blue eyes shining bright in the vague light, who now were determined to look quietly and carefully up at Thorin whose shocked facial expression had not dropped. He would’ve recognised that auburn silk hair anywhere, those deep blue eyes and soft skin. Many gazes looked upon her once again – the Elf standing far away in the solitude, and yet she could look so magnificently beautiful and breath-taking

The two dared not speak, and they dared not remember. In Thorin’s expression you could indicate longing, sadness, sympathy, fear. Love? Looking into his eyes it was hard to tell. The Dwarf and the Elf stared at each other for what seemed like forever, Thorin just couldn’t force his eyes away. He swallowed hard, and held his fists firmly by his sides. It did indeed seem as if he wanted something he could not have – the sapphire-eyed Dwarf lost so much yet wanted more.

Aria’s forehead was frowned; her expression was soft yet bothered by the silence and her own solitude. Her skin was creamy and her full lips parted as the two blue-eyed figures looked upon one another from afar – a distance that they did not appreciate.

However, the peaceful air that they had created did not last for very long when something inside of Thorin shook his conscious and snapped, causing his shocked facial expression to harden. His sapphire eyes turned mysterious, suddenly growing darker out of hatred and disgust. His jaw clenched and his neck crooked down as he started to approach the Elf in the solitude; one hand clutched around the handle to his blade, the other folded into a rock hard first by his side and his footsteps thumped in the floor as his pace quickened, when suddenly a hard and determined palm were slammed above Thorin’s chest – stopping him dead in his tracks and causing the fury to grow within him.

“Thorin, wait,” Dwalin hissed, preventing his fellow leader from charging upon the Elf who now had glimmering tears rolling down her cheeks in the gloom. “It is not what you think.”

Thorin stared bewildered upon his friend, his head cocked to the side.

“Take you hand off of me”, he growled, his tone of voice unexpectedly calm and mute as his gaze once again turned towards the Elf in the dining hall. She was so far away that Thorin feared he would never reach her. Her face was now red, as were her eyes. Her lips parted and her fists clutching onto the wall, preventing her from falling.

The company of Dwarves looked upon the scene with sadness and fear in their eyes. The two youngest Dwarf brothers stood tense – prepared to run to Aria’s rescue in case their uncle had decided to do something that they were sure he was going to regret.

Bilbo was once again completely and utterly confused, shifting his worried gaze from Gandalf to Thorin. The wizard had gotten nervous as well and twisted anxiously around the spot before he witnessed how the company along with Thorin disappeared further into Bilbo’s low-roofed house, leaving Gandalf and Bilbo alone in the main hall, and as Thorin walked past the broken hearted Aria he avoided to look her in the eyes.

 

“What news from the meeting in Ered Luin?” asked Balin, who sat quietly together with the rest of the company around the dining table, which was now cleared and cleaned to perfection. Their silence was in respect for their leader. Thorin sat at the end of the table closest to the entrance to the dining hall, his eyes blazing bright in the gazes of the company.

Each Dwarf around the table had a mug filled with ale each, and some a pipe stuffed in the corner of their mouths, occasionally exhaling individual puffs of smoke. The small dining hall was placed in the gloom light, with a single flame placed in the middle of the table as a source of light. The remainder of the existing light in Bilbo’s house came from the main hall, streaming onto Thorin’s back such as the rays of a rising sun. He had been offered freshly made soup and some biscuits, as well as a big mug of ale, since he had unfortunately missed out on the big feast earlier that evening, however not that unfortunate for some.

Gandalf sat heavily on a chair by Thorin’s side, his height towering over the company even whilst sitting down. Right behind him, Aria was standing in the shadows – her frame just a silhouette and barely noticeable, her weight barely existing as her smallest movements were as soundless as the small flame on the table and as soundless as the calm morning breeze. Her left knee was slightly bent forwards to once again reveal her skin on her thigh, and the company could occasionally turn to witness Thorin carefully glancing at her through the corner of his eye. A small itching sensation ran down the company’s backs as they could feel in the air how he desperately wanted to turn his head to meet her gaze.

Thorin turned his attention away from the soup and turned his sapphire gaze up towards Balin sitting on his right side of the table. Balin’s conscious were burning for an answer, however reading his facial expression he was calm, moderate and wise, awaiting Thorin’s answer patiently.

“Do they all come?”

“Aye”, Thorin nodded, “Envoys from all Seven Kingdoms.”

Right after Thorin had exhaled these words he did instantly receive cheerful and approving mumbles from all the Dwarves around the dining table.

“All of them!” sang Balin happily.

“And what do the Dwarves of the Iron Hills say?” asked Dwalin, sitting on the other side of the table, – opposite to Balin – his voice deep and his accent heavy. He stared deeply into Thorin’s blue eyes – the sapphire colour growing in depth and complexity in the vague light of the candle. To Dwalin’s husky words, the company fell into silence. “Is Dain with us?”

Thorin put his spoon down into the bowl of soup, strained his knuckles and sighed before he mustered the words,

“They will not come”, he said shortly. The voices around the table began anew, although this time not cheerful and approving, but bothered and low, the Dwarves sighing and muttering things below their breaths. Thorin took this time in between the depressing hums and grunts to crook his neck to his left – carefully and discretely – only to be met by Aria’s dark blue eyes. The Dwarf had to squint and strain his eyes to be able to make out the contours of her beautiful frame in the shadows in the corner of the room, the faint light not strong enough to reach out to her. As their blue gazes met, Aria took no time to once again pierce her eyes into the floor, avoiding Thorin’s magnificent sapphire eyes. To Aria’s rapid action, Thorin turned his head back around. “They say this quest is ours and ours alone.” His voice was calm and firm, taking his time to speak out the words. He took a pair of heavy sips from his ale, though he had to admit that he was not all that hungry. He put his mug back down and as he heard a very familiar voice to his left mumbling the word ‘bastard’, the Dwarf’s lips turned into a careful smirk which he tried to subdue quickly.

“You’re… going on a quest?” Bilbo had been standing in the shadows of Aria’s solitude all along as the Dwarves discussed the matter of a certain unnamed quest, uttering out occasional depressing words and mumbles. Gandalf’s head shot up, his body turning in his chair in surprise to the young Hobbit’s presence.

“Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light,” the wizard told him, and Bilbo nodded agreeably as he ran off to get another candle light.

Thorin stopped the sipping of his soup as Gandalf pulled out a piece of parchment from the inside of his robe. The Dwarf nudged his food aside, staring at the parchment curiously as Gandalf unfolded it and placed it flat down upon the wooden dining table.

“Far to the east, over riggings and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands…”

The parchment was put right in front of Thorin who carefully studied the neat drawings on the paper, realising that it was a very familiar map in his memory. Gandalf put a heavy finger at the top left on the map, right upon a dark shadowed drawing in the resemblance of a mountain and a dragon. The map was perfectly structured, however small and did not cover all the land as it should have. Lonely sentences in cole black ink were spread out a little everywhere on the parchment – naming the different places which had been drawn onto the paper. “… Lies a single, solitary peak”, said Gandalf as he pointed at the tiny drawing in the corner.

“’The Lonely Mountain’”, read Bilbo with a candle light clutched in his hand, casting great waves of radiant light over the map – lightening it up in detail. The flame was dangerously close to Thorin’s beard and the Dwarf swiftly winced backwards with watchful eyes.

In the silence of watchful gazes observing the piece of parchment, Aria slowly appeared from the shadows and leaned over the table to observe the confound ink of drawings and letters as well as the rest of them. Thorin gazes up at her without the slightest turn of his head, - he looked upon her in secret an as discretely as possible – his face softening, his expression turning perfectly peaceful, his eyes glimmering to his sight as if all his troubles has simply washed away. But then suddenly – something changed in his calmly observant facial expression. Something in the Dwarf’s twisted mind shock his conscious and let his peaceful, soft face drop into something hard and hateful, something of pure loathing; an expression use to kill. Thorin’s jaw clenched, his warm hands flexed and folded into a fist – his gaze dropped from the Elf with the auburn hair and turned own towards the piece of paper once again, inhaling deep breaths to calm himself down.

“Aye, Oin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time”, Gloin growled suddenly over the dining table in a heavy accent difficult to understand as he looked over the quietly observant company.

“Ravens have been seen flyin’ back to the mountain, as it was foretold”, said Oin, “When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end.”

The company continuously sat in utter silence in the still, vague light, simply gazing at Oin whilst he spoke, straining their ears to every word that came out of his mouth.

Bilbo had put the small candle light onto the table by the map, however had later gone out to the pantry – picking things up that had unintentionally fallen onto the floor, Bilbo who had likewise heard every word that had been said in the dining hall winced and turned around in great disbelief, now facing the dining hall and the company sitting around the table. His body tensed up and his forehead was frowned.

“Um… what beast?” he asked, Gandalf sensing fear in his voice.

“Well, that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible – Chiefest and greatest calamity of our age”, Bofur explained whilst puffing and biting the edge of his wooden pipe with his big leather hat on top of his head. The rest of the company, including Aria, had heard the name plenty of times – disliking it nonetheless, their eyes growing out of fear, fury and pure loathing, great despair filling their hearts.

“Airborne fire-breather”, Bofur continued, “Teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks.”

Bilbo’s small fingers folded in towards the centre of his palms, forming fists in the process placed in front of his torso, twirling the fingers nervously within the fists. His forehead frowned further, as he did not like where the Dwarf with the leather hat was going with this. Aria let a heavy sigh escape her lips and she rolled her eyes before catching Fili’s attention who frowned concernedly in her direction along with his brother. Thorin sighed as well, shaking his head annoyingly to Bofur’s continuous story. “Extremely fond of precious metal-“

“Yes, I know what a dragon is”, Bilbo exclaimed, interrupting Bofur. Suddenly, the youngest Dwarf out of the company – Ori – got up so hastily from his chair that it fell over.

“I am not afraid! I am up for it! I’ll give ‘im a taste of the Dwarfish iron right up his jacksie!” he roared over the company, but were however swiftly subdued. The dining hall was once again filled with both protesting and agreeable shouts and mutterings, until Nori pulled Ori back down onto his seat.

Thorin, Gandalf, Bilbo and Aria remained quiet in front of the room. Aria had recoiled into the shadows behind Gandalf, crossing her arms above her chest, getting herself in the same position as she had when the meeting had begun.

“The task will be difficult enough with an army behind us; but the number of just thirteen, and not thirteen of the best – not brightest”, Balin explained, truth in his words, however most of the Dwarves did of course not at all agree with them. They started grunting and snorting, throwing evil looks towards the white bearded Dwarf, until suddenly Fili hit his fist in the table, resulting in everyone jumping in their seats.

“We may be few in number, but we’re fighters. All of us! To the last Dwarf!” the blond Dwarf-brother with the blue eyes roared and smashed the table with his fist once more. In the distant shadows, Aria smiled faintly towards him, getting a sweet, small nod in return with a smirk covering Fili’s lips.

“And you forget that we have a wizard in our company!” Kili roared this time, “Gandalf will have killed thousands of dragons in his time!” The black haired brother lacking a beard had a big grin painted across his face, and his eyes were lit with hope – almost blazing. The Dwarves started bickering amongst themselves while Gandalf raised his hands in the air in protest and defence.

“Oh, well, no. I-I wouldn’t say-“

“How many, then?” Dori demanded to know, cutting the wizard off in the middle of his sentence.

“What?”

“Well, how many dragons have you killed?”

Gandalf slowly felt a lump in his throat growing larger, and he found it difficult to say anything at all. He could not answer, but instead he accidentally chocked on the smoke from his long wooden pipe and let the remainder of the poisonous gas escape from the corners of his mouth. He did not dare to utter the unfortunate truth, so he remained silent in his seat next to the sapphire-eyed Dwarf who noticed the wizard’s bothered facial expression. He gazed upon Gandalf, as of course he himself knew the truth about the matter. Aria bit down on her bottom lip, glancing awkwardly at the wizard from her spot in the dark, and for a split second the Dwarf’s and the Elf’s gazes collided, however parted just as swiftly.

“Go on. Give us a number!” Dori exclaimed, selfish demand in his voice, and suddenly every single one of the companied Dwarves arose from their seats in great force and started shouting and pointing accusing fingers amongst each other. The rapid change of scenery and increase tone of voices scared Aria, causing her to flinch and recoil further into the darkness until her back hit the wall. Thorin’s body grew tense, his muscles flexed underneath his heavy armour and his jaw clenched until his entire body was stiff and monitoring as he carefully observed Aria in the corner of his eye, witnessing how the company’s actions frightened her. Nothing usually did. Yet still, something burning within him demanded him to stop this madness and relax – the Elf’s frame having a meaningless existence in this world. Thorin ignored this blazing evil.

“Excuse me, p-please”, Bilbo made an attempt in trying to calm the furious creatures down, however failed with his tiny and careful tone of voice.

Thorin’s facial expression had grown expectantly serious and rock hard, his eyes cold and blazing – more than usual.

“Enough!” Thorin roared in Khuzdul, stretching the word out as far as possible. His voice ran deeper than ever before – weirdly enough still beautiful and soothing. He easily drowned the Dwarves’ endless yelling and bickering.

Thorin was now upstanding – demandingly knocking his chair aside as he had risen along with his dark voice. Things got instantly quiet and calm once the sapphire-eyed Dwarf’s voice had faded away, and everyone’s gazes turned to him. By standing up, Thorin was the exact height of Gandalf sitting down. Thorin’s demanding voice however, startled the Elf even more, and as it wasn’t his intention, he threw her a gentle and apologetic look, then turned back around and flexed his jaw.

“If we have read the signs, do you not think others will have read them too? Rumours have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for 60 years”, his cold, hard sapphires stared out over his friends who listened intensely and unquestionably to his words. “Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours, or do we seize his chance to take back Erebor?”

With a fist raised high in the air, Thorin yelled these words with cheer and determination. Approving cries filled the faded room from every Dwarf around the table.

“You forget - the front gate is sealed”, Balin cut through the celebration with new worries and threatening possibilities. Thorin’s smile that had risen, now faded away as he sat back down. “There’s no way into the Mountain.”

Suddenly, Aria stepped out of the shadows, clearing her throat before taking her spot by Gandalf’s sitting posture.

“That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true”, she said, her voice beautiful and soothing, yet hard and determined, the rarity of its kind and beauty caused some of the Dwarves to stop breathing for second, especially one in particular. Aria tilted her head down to meet Gandalf’s ancient and amused expression, as he reached within his grey robe to pull out a second object of far more value. In his hand, his thumb and index finger clutched onto a very strange-looking key, with confounding form, yet quite extraordinary. The sapphire-eyed Dwarf by the wizard’s side gasped to the sight of it and his lips unknowingly parted in disbelief to the object in front of him.

“How came you by this?” Thorin’s voice was low and steady, dark and ancient like it echoed throughout an un-existing throne room. Bilbo observed this sharp, confound key from his hallway behind Thorin, a small wrinkle very slowly forming in between his eyebrows.

“It was given to me by your father – by Thrain. For safe keeping”, Gandalf’s lips turned into a careful smile as he observed the sapphire-eyed Dwarf before him. The company around the table all had shocked facial expression covering their faces that kept increasing by the second as Gandalf handed over the key to Thorin. “It is your now”, he said.

Thorin started deeply into the eyes of the wizard before he willingly took it out of his hands, and in the radiant candle light on the table, the Dwarf observed the key with care – turning it in his hand, shifting it around in the light, observing every nook and bend.

“If there is a key…” said Fili suddenly, “… there must be a door!” His soft voice was heard across the table, and Aria grinned to his silly realisation. Gandalf made a half nod, thenceforth returned his focus onto the map on the table, planting a big finger on top of some strangely looking runes.

“These runes speak of a hidden passage to the Lower Halls”, he said.

“There is another way in”, Kili nudged his brother with a cheeky grin on his lips, and his cheerful mood was contagious and caused Fili to smile as well, Aria then falling into their gazes.

“Well, if we can find it, but Dwarf doors are invisible when closed”, Gandalf sighed, “The answer lies hidden somewhere in his map. I do not have the skill to find it, but there are others in Middle Earth who can.” Gandalf’s eyes travelled to Thorin whose confusion was easily noticeable, as well as understandable and he watched the wizard questionably with an anxious furrow in between his brows. His sapphire-blue eyes then travelled further up to meet the Elf’s, her expression however, did not indicate confusion, but as Thorin did not sincerely care for sympathy from her, his eyes could be stuck on her for hours on end.

“The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth and no small amount of courage”, and with that, Gandalf turned to Bilbo who were equally confused as he had always been. “But if we are careful and clever I believe it can be done.”

“That’s why we need a burglar!” Ori exclaimed from the other side of the room, and to his exclaim, the wizard raised his eyebrows approvingly.

“And a good one, too. An expert I’d imagine”, Bilbo added without thinking, tugging on his suspenders. Confused faces then gazed upon the Hobbit. 

“And are you?” questioned Gloin. Patiently, the Dwarves awaited the answer from the ignorant creature at the front of the room.

Thorin, who sat askew in his chair, would simply have to tilt his neck up to meet Bilbo’s confused and worried facial expression, his hazel coloured eyes drained of all light and contentment. Aria tugged nervously on her bottom lip as Bilbo had to turn around to make sure that Gloin were indeed questioning him, but to his great surprise and disappointment, there was no one there to take the blame.

“Am I what?”

“He said he’s an expert!” cried Oin cheerfully, his hearing tube pressed to his ear.

“Me? No! No, no, no, no. I’m not a burglar! I have never stolen a thing in my life!” Bilbo answered swiftly.

“I am afraid I have to agree with Mr Baggins”, said Balin suddenly, once he noticed Aria’s bothered and sympathetic expression to Bilbo’s nervosity and unawareness of the quest’s outcome. “He is hardly burglar material.” Around him, the Dwarves mumbled agreeably, as did Bilbo.

“Aye, the wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves”, muttered Dwalin, and once again the Dwarves agreed, as did Bilbo.

And before anyone could say another word about the matter, a loud and intense bickering amongst the Dwarves started anew – a debate about how Bilbo was not fir for the job and how it really did not matter about the size of him.

“He’s just fine!” Kili exclaimed, who noticed no greater faults within the Hobbit.

Then suddenly, things grew cold as if all the warmth inside the Hobbit hole had been pulled out in one great blow. The candle lights on the table were ripped of their warmth and radiant light, and everything around Gandalf were starting to turn into a threatening shadow as he arose from his chair. His voice grew to the loudest pitch, as if he was speaking from within a hollow cave with walls of complete stone, as if he was speaking through another age and everything else became inaudible.

“Enough!” he cried, “If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar then a burglar he is.”

The darkness, along with the shadows vanished as swiftly as it had appeared – pulled off the world like a cowl, and within seconds the lights from the candles blazed brightly again. Gandalf were faced by terrified Dwarves who had pulled themselves back as far as possible. Their eyes widened and their figures silent – things inside the dining room feel into the silence the likeness of a graveyard.

Aria had closed her eyes shut and put her open palms to her forehead as if she suffered from a terrible headache.

“Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most if they choose, and while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of Dwarf, the scent of Hobbit is all but unknown to him which gives us a distinct advantage.”

Swiftly, Bilbo put a finger in the air, as to make a remark, however failed and remained silent behind Thorin. Gandalf, who were now sitting back down turned towards the Dwarf with the sapphire-eyes and cocked his head to the side. “You asked me to find the fourteenth – now fifteenth member of this company, and I have chosen Mr Baggins. There is a lot more to him than appearances suggest, and he has a great deal more to offer than any of you know!” Gandalf threw a pair of accusing pair of eyes over the company and Thorin turned his sapphire-gaze into the table, reconsidering the proposition. “Including himself”, Gandalf gave Bilbo a small smile, although the Hobbit’s face expressed worry and fear to the wizard’s words.

As Gandalf finished off, Thorin sighed, finding it difficult to find the right response. “You must trust me on this.”

Thorin studied Gandalf carefully. The Dwarf was calm and thoughtful, exhaling one last sigh before he said,

“Very well, we’ll do it your way”, his voice was soft and gentle as he had decided to trust the wizard’s words.

“No, no, no, no, please!” Bilbo protested. Aria threw the Hobbit one last concerned look before the Dwarves were starting to move about in their seats. Something was about to happen which actually were of importance, for once, and the meeting were reaching its final decisions.

“Give him the contract”, Thorin growled, his eyes on the white-bearded Dwarf who had a folded piece of parchment clutched in his palm. He reached the parchment out to Bilbo who instantly hesitated.

“It’s just the usual – summary about pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements so forth.”

Bilbo winced, recoiling from the apparently small piece of folded parchment, and as he refused to accept the contract, Thorin ripped it out of Balin’s hands and pushed it into the Hobbit’s chest without throwing him a single look. Bilbo received it obediently, his eyes growing huge.

“Funeral arrangements?” Bilbo exclaimed in horror and Aria threw Balin an annoyed look – clearly judging him for his choice of words.

With the folded piece of parchment in hand, Bilbo trotted out into the main hall, carefully unfolding the contract bit by bit. But to his great surprise, the contract suddenly dropped to the floor by its length as it was completely unfolded, and the Hobbit whined quietly to himself. He read through the parchment in great haste, observing every letter, every word, every line.

The Dwarfen company watched his figure from the dining hall. Aria carefully ran her fingers through her auburn hair and witnessed how Bilbo’s expressions changed by the second.

“You could have just given him the contract without a word. Now he’s frightened”, she mumbled to Balin who simply shrugged.

“If he cannot handle the pressure, he’s not fir for the task”, explained the white-bearded Dwarf, turning his attention back to the Hobbit in the main hall. As Bilbo read through the contract, Thorin arose from his chair and leaned over Gandalf, whispering in his ear,

“I cannot guarantee his safety.”

“Understood.”

“Nor will I be responsible for his fate.”

Gandalf fell into silence, reconsidering, then sighing.

“Agreed”, Gandalf smiled faintly, however that smile swiftly vanished.

As Aria overheard their conversation, she threw Thorin a cold and hard look but said nothing, before he recoiled from Gandalf’s frame. Her eyes were blazing such as a source of light or the purest jewels, her full lips were parted and her forehead was furrowed in an anxious frown in worry for the Hobbit.

“’Cash on delivery up to but not exceeding one-fifteenth total profit if any.’ Seems fair”, Bilbo muttered to himself as he started reading the terms and conditions out loud, pacing back and forth through the main hall. “’Present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a consequence thereof including but, not limited to laceration…” Bilbo flinched to the sudden choice of word and Gandalf’s gaze travelled to the Hobbit in confusion. “’Evisceration’”, Bilbo continued. “’Incineration’?” Bilbo flinched in undeniable horror and turned to the company in the dining hall in great confusion.

“Oh, aye. He’ll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye”, Bofur added, unaware of the outcome that his comments might have. Suddenly, Bilbo was forced to hunch, supporting himself on his knees to prevent himself from falling over as he felt the dizziness slowly creep into his conscious. He started panting and sighing, inhaling heavily.

“You alright, laddie?” asked Balin from his spot around the table.

“Yeah, I’ll be… Feel a bit faint”, Bilbo whined. Thenceforth, Bofur arose from his seat with a pipe clutched in between his fingers.

“Think a furnace with wings”, smiled Bofur in an attempt to calm Bilbo down.

“Air, I-I need air”, Bilbo stammered.

“Flash of light, searing pain, then poof – you’re nothing more than a pile of ash”, Bofur continued in unbelievable cheer.

Bilbo felt how the rate of his heart increased rapidly until he could feel a familiar beat in his ears. The adrenaline shot throughout his body, and suddenly the air around him felt thicker, making him uncomfortable and sweaty. He could slowly witness how small, invisible bubbles were carefully trailing down from the ceiling as he kept blinking, trying to focus on something else.

“No”, he proclaimed, and fainted – falling flat onto his carpeted floor. Aria sighed as she watched the Hobbit fall and walked over to his limb-like body, quietly kneeling by his curly-haired head, and placed the back of it in her lap for comfort.

“Very helpful”, she growled towards Bofur who shot her an apologetic look, ashamed of his actions, turning his gaze into the floor.


	6. Choices In The Gloom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited

”I’ll be alright”, he said, inhaling and exhaling deeply to calm himself down and to reduce his radically beating heart. His anxiety remained high and he was biting nervously on his bottom lip as he stared out into the abyss. “Just, let me sit quietly for a moment.”

Bilbo had silently placed himself down in his armchair after waking up from the previous events, and as he did, he remembered being met by a pair of glasz colored eyes hovering over him, looking bothered and worried before he regained consciousness.

Clutched in the Hobbit’s palms was a steaming hot cup of tea, the scent of the familiar herbs streaming up his nostrils in the form of hot steam, giving him a sensation of calmness and peace. The fire place had been lit with wood and crumbled parchment; living there now was a tall and crackling flame, blazing brightly on the stack of chopped wood, and the radiant light washed away the darkness and the billowing shadows within the room. The light inside the room however, was a gloom – calm and mysterious, soft and harmless. The air was toasty warm, and the sound and smell of home was pleasant to anyone approaching. As the sound, the warmth, and the mysterious gloom light mixed, Bilbo could feel a sensation of sudden tranquility, and his anxiety dropped, along with his swift heart rate. This tranquility however, he did not get to maintain for long.

Gandalf the Grey was determinedly pacing back and forth with a hunched back and a bothered frown. His wooden pipe was held high in the warm air, the poisonous smoke spreading throughout the room, his thumping footsteps – in the likeness of mortal heartbeats – cutting through the silence such as blades would cut through flesh.

“You’ve been sitting quietly for far too long!” he growled, taking Bilbo by surprise as the little Hobbit jumped in his chair. His mouth opened wide in surprise and his eyes expanded into great orbs. He did not see how sitting quietly could be a problem, nor cause any harm.

In great disbelief and confusion, Gandalf shook his head, causing his long, grey hair to rock back and forth over his shoulders.

“Tell me,” he muttered, “When did doilies and your mother’s dishes become so important to you?”

Bilbo carefully squeezed his hot cup of tea in his hands, pressing it against his chest as if he was afraid that someone would suddenly come and snatch it out of his grasp, and he determinedly pierced his gaze into the view in front of him. “I remember a young Hobbit who was always running off in search of Elves in the woods. Who would stay out late, come home after dark trailing mud, and twigs, and fireflies. A young Hobbit who would have liked nothing better than to find out what was beyond the borders of the Shire”, Gandalf went on, pointing with a long finger towards the dark window in the distance as the stubborn Hobbit refused to rip his gaze off of the view of absolute nothingness. Outside, the crickets were continuously singing their modest song, the moon was set high and the view ahead was dark and desolated. In fact, the darkness was quite intriguing and attractive, a soundless whisper commanding any living creature to enter the world of despair and great danger, yet Bilbo forced himself to look the other way.

“The world is not in your books and maps. It is out there.”

Bilbo finally looked up with an anxious expression on his face as he was faced by the dark window in the far corner of the room. Beyond the intriguing, attractive darkness laid something far more dangerous, devious and deceptive than any he had ever contemplated – mysterious creatures with confound appearances - lying, cheating, threatening and blood-thirsty. The unbearable thought sent uncomfortable shivers down the Hobbit’s spine and he swiftly shook his head in protest.

“I can’t just go running off into the blue. I am a Baggins of Bagend!”

“You are also a Took”, Gandalf added, his words causing Bilbo to exhale a heavy sigh. He leaned the back of his head against the backrest of his chair and pierced his frustrated gaze into the ceiling. The thought of him raging off into the wilderness accompanied by thirteen Dwarves, a wizard and an Elf caused his long gone anxiety to rise once again. “Did you know that your great-great-great-great-uncle, Bullroarer Took was so large, he could ride a real horse?”

“Yes”, Bilbo nodded.

“Yes, well, he could! In the battle of Green Fields he charged the Goblin ranks. He swung his club so hard it knocked the Goblin king’s head clean off and it sailed a hundred yards through the air and went down a rabbit hole.”

Bilbo grinned, frowning at the same time to the utterly odd story he had just been told, confound it was. “And thus, the battle was won.”

Gandalf sat himself heavily down in the armchair by the fire opposite to Bilbo, the blazing light instantly showing Gandalf’s warm complexion in every detail, washing away the shadows from the other side of the room.

Bilbo now had his cup rested in his lap, to later place it on top of a stock of thick books with red covers on top of his arm-rest beside him. Bilbo’s expression was soft and warm and gentle as he observed the wizard in the light of the fire.

“And the game of golf invented at the same time.”

Bilbo smiled – a genuine smile finally.

“I do believe you made that up.”

“Well, all good stories deserve embellishment”, the wizard uttered the words as his face fell into a seriousness. “You’ll have a tale or two to tell of your own when you come back.”

There was a long pause between the two figures sitting in the gloom. Gandalf, patiently awaiting an answer, and Bilbo, desperately trying to muster the words for the occasion, until he eventually smiled faintly towards the wizard – the smile soon after fading.

“Can you promise that I will come back?”

Gandalf stopped to think for a moment – strange, really since he already knew the answer.

“No”, the wizard replied, slightly shaking his head in recognition, his dear and warm expression not fading, “And if you do, you will not be the same.”

“That’s what I thought”, Bilbo nodded, straining his mouth, staring down into his lap, “Sorry, Gandalf, I can’t sign this contract. You’ve got the wrong Hobbit.” Bilbo swiftly threw an apologetic look towards the wizard in the soft gloom. He then stood up, tapping his fingertips against the centre of his palm, and left – under complete silence, without saying another word.

A peaceful calm had started to appear throughout the rest of the house. The Dwarves were lull, quiet and moderate – some still munching on food, some fallen asleep. The whole house was standing in the gloom light caused by the few flames under the ceiling. The creatures pacing, softly tumbling around the house did not cause any trouble. They were tired and unexceptional, soundlessly trotting throughout the house, or motionlessly sitting.

Thorin and Balin were together standing in the hallway, by the entrance of the living-room from where Gandalf and Bilbo had held their previous conversation, and as the Hobbit walked out, passing the patiently waiting Dwarves they simply exhaled a disappointing sigh, watching him disappear into his room to never come out again that evening. The two great Dwarf warriors stood leaned against the wall of the hallway opposite from each other. They stood in utter silence, Thorin’s muscular frame and fur pelt altogether towering over the white-bearded Dwarf in front of him.

Aria, together with Fili and Kili had settled on a broad chair just outside the entrance to the dining room. The brothers were placed on either side of her, carefully, covering her like a cowl – the three of them slowly falling into fatigue and further into sleep, the Dwarves breathing soundly by Aria’s side.

In the light of the vague blazing candle lights throughout the small, narrow hallway, casting great shadows over the floor, Thorin was watching her. His eyes were once again in the resemblance of pure sapphires as he turned his gaze towards the light in the broad chair, as well as the light of the candles. He could not bother at this time, looking disappointed, furious, nor sad. Instead he billowed in her beauty and the sheer happiness which struck him from within due to the fact that she was there. His otherwise hard facial expression softened, and he smiled.

However, as Balin noticed how Bilbo disappeared into the house, he made a loud sigh and shook his head from side to side.

“It appears we have lost our burglar”, he said, turning towards the sapphire-eyed Thorin. “Probably for the best; the odds were always against us. After all, what are we? Merchants, miners, tinkers, toy-makers”, Balin chuckled, “Hardly the stuff of legend.”

As Balin uttered his anxious words into the still, warm air, Thorin turned to him – his expression evolving into a pleasant calmness – and pierced his eyes onto his friend whose facial expression turned into a worried frown. Thorin smiled faintly towards him, his sapphires apparent, shining slightly brighter than before. The familiar warmth within Thorin for the white-bearded Dwarf was not new, the wise Balin having been with him most of his life.

“There are a few warriors amongst us”, Thorin reminded him, as Balin was doubtful and uneasy, the hope of reclaiming his home slowly dripping out of him such as raindrops falling from a grey sky if he was not reminded of the truth.

“Old warriors”, Balin added, looking solemn. Thorin frowned.

“I will take each and every one of these Dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills”, he said while stepping away from the wall. “For when I called upon them they answered. Loyalty, honor, a willing heart – I can ask no more than that.”

Balin approached his sapphire-eyed friend in protest, his worried frown growing stronger, the furrows running deeper.

“You don’t have to do this, you have a choice! You’ve done honorably by our people. You have built a new life for us in the Blue Mountains, a life of peace and plenty, a life that is worth more than all the gold in Erebor.”

Whilst Balin uttered these words he stared deeply into Thorin’s eyes with recognition and determination, desperately wishing that Thorin would at this point overlook his stubbornness and contradiction and think about what was right. Nevertheless, the confound looking key in his hands convinced him. His large fingers wandered over the cold metal, turning the object in his hand before raising it in eye-height.

“From my grandfather to my father, this has come to me. They dreamt of the day when the Dwarves of Erebor would reclaim their homeland!” Thorin’s voice was strain and demanding, his mind completely focused on the task he had been given. He watched as the hope of trying to convince Thorin slowly drained from Balin’s frame and he stared into the carpeted floor in consideration. “There is no choice, Balin. Not for me.” Thorin’s tone was soft and kind; thin almost, earning Balin’s attention, who eventually nodded under silence and tension. Thorin was bound to this invisible command given by his father and grandfather. Balin’s gaze remained on Thorin’s muscular frame, as he put a steady hand on top of Thorin’s heavily armored shoulder.

“Then we are with you, laddie.”

Thorin exhaled a breath in relief. “We will see it done”, Balin’s voice turned into a calm, peaceful whisper in the soft air of the house, which was soothing, causing the fatigue to creep into the Dwarves’ minds, but before it reached them, Thorin smiled, vague wrinkles forming by his sapphire eyes. Under the silence that grew in hallway, the Dwarf crooked his head towards the wide chair by the dining room and he gulped, not sure why the oxygen was suddenly very difficult to inhale. Aria’s head was softly leaned on Fili’s broad shoulder, his head rested on the Elf’s auburn silk waves, her legs rested over Kili’s lap whose whole body was lying such as a wreck over both his brother’s and Aria’s frames. Uncomfortable, indeed it appeared to be, but no one else had the same pleasant, comfortable expressions as they did.

Thorin watched her in the gloom light of the hallway, his face perfectly peaceful and pleasant. Balin followed his sapphire gaze.

“Balin”, Thorin whispered, his ancient, husky voice almost inaudible to the sight before him, “What is she doing here?” His forehead frowned in confusion to all the befuddled possibilities in his conscious. There was a silence that Balin felt was necessary.

“She never left, Thorin.”

“What do you mean?” Thorin’s eyes left Aria’s frame to get stuck on Balin’s now uneasy facial expression.

“Aria has not seen home for over sixty years, since all this time she’s been with us. The betrayal lies not with her but with her kin. She knew her duty whence her father forbade her from any relation with us. She stayed, Thorin, not only for you, but for us – all of us.”

Thorin’s jaw clenched, his sapphire’s billowed in dark hatred and fury, and his nose wrinkled in disgust.

“How come during all this time you did not have the decency to inform me? Did your ignorance get the better of you? Did you not think I was obligated to know? That for sixty years I have been loathing the person that are of greatest value in my whole world for some kind of superstition!”

Balin squeezed his eyes shut in shame; the difficulty to utter his words was unbelievable.

“Thorin-“

“Did you know from the beginning? That Aria was in my presence whilst I counted the ways that I would slowly kill her, along with her entire kin?” he growled, the adrenaline pumping throughout his body as he thought of the deception, the false pretences by his own friend.

“Do not pretend that you did not see her.”

Thorin stopped, clenched his jaw, dug his fingers into the centre of his palm, and pretended that he did not reconsider. “I know what you saw – what you thought you saw, but did not want to believe, since you were so desperate to accept that your sanguinary for Elf blood got the better of you and you started to imagine the creatures actually in front of you. You thought your eyes were cursed, but Aria was there – hiding in the shadows, hoping that perhaps one day you would stop hating her so much,” Balin paused, “She did not want anyone to tell you, my lad. She did not want you to get carried away – distracted. You had a bigger task, a greater responsibility, and so did she. She is here to help, do not send her away, I beg of you. Do not feel guilty, either. She longed for you, every day, throughout all these years.”

Thorin could not speak; his words were trapped in his throat. He dared not look his white-bearded friend in the eyes, as his guilt burned his conscious more violently than any dragon fire would. He thought about the soft, creamy skin, her glasz eyes, her complexion, her lips, her auburn hair – all this should remain untouched and unharmed. His lips parted, exhaling an unsteady breath, feeling how his insides were tearing apart into a million pieces.

“She cannot come. I won’t allow it. I will not lose her again”, he said, his voice now soft, low and in a way insecure and uneasy.

“If you forbid her to come with us, she will never forgive you, Thorin. You owe her this. Also, I do not think the lads will leave without her. They have grown way too fond of her.” Balin’s gaze turned to Fili and Kili, resting on either side of the Elf.

“It is too risky. What if something happens to her-“

“We will protect her, you know we will! Her place is by your side, so has it always been.”

“Balin…” Thorin was in desperate need for his friend to stop this madness. He shook his head in despair, trying to get the picture of Aria’s blood softly pouring out of her skin in his head, out.

“Do you love her?”

Thorin could not muster the words, as it was a weakness of his. Until he finally clenched his hands into fists and said, “Beyond blood, jewels and desolation.”

“Then you’ll let her come with us…”

There was a silence amongst the Dwarves. Balin stood before the sapphire-eyed Dwarf, patiently awaiting his answer. Until Thorin looked up, gave Balin a half-nod and sighed in termination.

“Then let it be so”, he said, and left.

In the vast gloom light within the house, Aria’s long, pointy ear softly twitched in the direction of the hallway standing in the deceptive shadows, and her peaceful face turned into a careful but faint smile. 

Somewhere within the dim, gloom light sounded thirteen deep and dark voices in a pleasant tone; a mute, soothing singing increasing the fatigue within anyone present. The great fire, sparkling and crackling above a stack of wood washed away the secure shadows and found the source of the pleasant singing.

 

Far over the misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep and caverns old

We must away, at break of day

To find our long forgotten gold

The pines were roaring on the height

The winds were moaning in the night

The fire was red, it flaming spread

The trees like torches blazed with light …

 

 

And, before the night closed in, the thirteen Dwarves, the wizard an the Elf decided to go to sleep, one last song was sung out of homesickness, and before Aria could billow in pleasant but confound dreams, a soft peck was placed on her cheek and things turned silent except for the purring sound of crickets outside and the invisible, non-existent whispers in the vast distance of the deceptive, dangerous darkness wanting them to enter the evil corruptions.


End file.
